


Welcome to the Pizzeria! Go to hell!

by anim-uhhhh-tronics (explodingviolently)



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Gen, Mike Schmidt is NOT Michael Afton, Mike is only kind of Mike, Obligatory snarky nightguard, animatronics are annoying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingviolently/pseuds/anim-uhhhh-tronics
Summary: Mike Schmidt JUST wanted a quick job to pay off student loans. That was it.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	1. Mike has a semi-bad day

As Mike reclined in his chair, picking at his teeth, he swiveled around the tiny office.   
“Good God, this shit is tiny. Who do they hire to work here, ants?” He snarked. 

  
He wasn’t actually sure about anything regarding his new job, besides the fact that (according to his manager) it was created as a sort of answer to Showbiz Pizza in the late 80’s. Other than that, everything else was just hearsay. The dude on the phone drummed up this huge story about malfunctioning robots, probably to keep employees from mucking about with the suits and damaging anything valuable. He'd never seen the appeal of the old pizza/entertainment type venues, usually opting to swing by a Pizza Hut every now and again as a kid. Not to say he didn't have the occasional birthday at Chuck E's. 

Speaking of the robots, these things were _ugly_. Yeah, the old fellas from some of the early mascot restaurants got their rep for being creepy and busted up, but there was something so uniquely unnerving about the Fazbear gang. Growing up around the area, Mike had always heard rumors about the place. Nothing that genuinely struck him as upsetting, but visiting the restaurant for a friend's party just once was enough to convince him they were all true. 

  
_Not surprised one of them ended up munching someone’s skull,_ Mike thought, rubbing at his eyes. He never actually gave too much thought to that particular story. One night, stuck in a Wikipedia rabbit hole, he decided to delve into that subject, discovering that the father of the supposed kid never actually sued. And the other 'bite' story had absolutely zero legitimacy, other than a few poorly photoshopped crime scene photos. He considered it more of a tall tale than anything else. Feeling a shiver creep up his otherwise sweaty arms, now sticking to the pleather chair, he reflected on the choice of picking nightshift in a smelly pizzaria. Yawning, and pulling himself from that train of thought, he grabbed one of the cruddy drawings from the wall. Looked like it had been done by a 3rd grader, and was smeared with some kind of... something. 

  
“A regular Picasso in the makings.” He shoved it into a corner of his desk underneath the security cams. The security cameras.... he _was_ supposed to be checking those, right? He picked it up, almost just as soon forgetting what he was doing as he mussed with his hair in his reflection of the dingy off-brand iPad. His hand pushed the stubblish hair close to his scalp, sighing as it popped back up again, just as tenacious. 

_At least my stubble is coming in._ It really wasn’t. He wished that his manager… what was his name? Harrison? Hardy? Something akin to that. He wished he'd gotten a flashlight. During his orientation, though, all he was provided was a dark room and a VHS tape. At the time, the restaurant was still open to the public, so focusing on the intricacies of the advanced technology was a bit difficult with someone having the birthday bash of the century in the other room. Thankfully, he'd been given some kind of pre-shift rundown by those prerecorded messages. However, they were... a bit.... difficult to piece together. He figured the branding of Freddy and Co. making their way to the office was a fun and in-character way of warning him of potential break-ins. The latter part of the message involving his assumed fate if he were to fail was a bit hard to understand. Definitely some kind of elaborate hazing bit. And, on top of that, he was meant to conserve power. Wasn't the oddest odd-job he'd taken though. He let himself shortly reflect on the one summer he'd taken internship at 'Snip-Its: Haircuts For Kids'. It was absolutely vile. Cringing momentarily, he leaned his chin in his palms, letting his eyes roam around the various drawings and doodles on the wall in front of him. 

_Bonnie….. Freddy…. Some orange thing? This is why they don’t let kids into the MOMA._ He giggled at one, the heavy crayon work making it look like Bonnie had intense eyeliner applied. Tilting his head, Mike made himself aware of the fact that they'd all been signed by the same person. Not that children had signatures, of course, but the name on each looked exactly the same. He supposed it was sweet, a parent wanting to see their kids artwork during their shift. It still kind of sucked, though. He quickly sat up at a noise from the camcorder, jumping in place. Jesus, he was jittery. Never been good with the dark. Even with all the late night parties he had in his youth. That was a joke. Mike Schmidt has never partied in his life. Finally, he grabbed the tablet on his desk, switching it on, and tapping it a few times before the sweat on his palms actually allowed him to tap the little buttons. He squinted at the stage. Creepy chicken… check. Ugly bear… check. Goth bunny..? 

Huh. Guess they... _did_ roam around a bit. He put the tablet down, getting antsy again. If he saw one, he’d just close the door. He wasn’t worried about getting stuffed into a death trap/pranked to death by his coworkers, he was more concerned regarding the very real possibility of damaging something and getting sued. Considering his status as a (up until recently) unemployed millennial, that was definitely the more frightening option. He kicked himself off the wall, swiveling to the other one. And back. And again. Doing this, he pressed the light-up systems on each door as he went, racketing off both walls like a pinball. 

_Left door, right door._ It’s like they WANT their employees to get bored to death in this place. Forget Freddy, the boredom is what’s gonna kill you.

_Left door, right door._ For a prank, that guy on the phone did seem to be realistically worried though, right?

_Left door, right door._ Reasonably, there had to be some danger from malfunctioning robots. Like, who in their right mind would let fuzzy Terminator wander around at night like some kind of Halloween attraction? (He chuckled. Nervously, albeit) 

_Left door-_ He squeaked, falling from his squeaky swivel chair rear-first onto the floor. There, in the doorway, was none other than the hulking rabbit himself.

_Bonnie._ Mike thought to himself, ever so slowly inching towards the door. The mascot's eyes followed him, mouth hanging open, joints creaking gently and distractingly. 

“Heyyyy there buddy…. Just… stay still for a moment while I lock you out real quick…” He inched closer still, becoming hyper-aware of it’s utterly rancid stench. Quickly, he lunged forwards, slamming the door. He held his breath for a moment, before realizing that the door had pacified the thing.

He sighed. “Well that was...” He huffed and trailed off, trying to get the acrid smell from his nostrils. Adjectives had him beat at this point. Out of curiosity, he poked the light on again. The stupid thing was at the window, greasy hands (paws? Whatever.) pressed to the glass. It’s breath was fogging up the window. 

Breath? He shook his head, sitting back in his chair as the thing kept staring at him. Gross. 

“Hey, you may wanna try out a new dental care routine. Your-your uh-chompers are looking pretty ugly.” He bit tightly at his bottom lip. Bonnie did nothing. “Oookaayyy…. Are you... uh... just gonna stare at me all night?” It responded with a huff. Mike rolled his eyes, flicking the light back off. About an hour later, he found himself spinning around on his chair in circles.

“Wheeee….” He really wished he’d brought a book or something. These guys were really adamant about security or whatever, though. Didn’t even want employees bringing their cell phones in. And he couldn’t exactly sneak his in, because of the camera system. 

That smell was really beginning to get to him, though. 

“You know, your stink reminds me of something.” He spoke aloud, despite him being alone. Alone with a stuffed animal is still alone. Even if the thing's astonishingly white teeth gave Mike a vaguely human-like impression. 

“Reminds me of the last time I went to Chuck E. Cheese’s as a kid. I was- get this. I was playing arcade games the whole day, mooching pizza off my friends..." He stopped, ignoring his stuttering and word placement. He wasn't exactly certain when he'd gotten so nervous. "That-was when some older lady had started complaining to whatever poor minimum wage worker she could find-uh-about... something.” He itched his nose, eyeing the large rabbit. “She was going on and on about what uh. What we were calling ‘The Stench’. So of course, me ‘n my friends were uh... pretty ruthless. Made fun of her at any point we weren't playing air-hockey. That was, until, we... uh. Started getting whiffs of The Stench as well.”

Bonnie’s eyes seemed to widen. Huh. Must like stories (Don't personify the stupid fake animals, Mike). “Anyway, after enough complaints, the manager got some hokey health inspector guy to clear out the restaurant.” He paused for a moment, watching the rabbit press it's latex nose against the glass. “Whatever. They ended up finding a dead raccoon rotting inside one of the animatronics. Pasqually, maybe? The poor thing had climbed inside to hide and gotten crushed when the robot tried to move again.” 

He turned, again, to the figure outside his window. 

“You've got raccoon breath?” He cackled nervously, sprinkling a dash of humor into the situation. It blinked back. He furrowed his brows. “Huh…” 

Thinking to himself, Mike scooted across the office. And back. And forward again. It almost looked as though Bonnie’s eyes were… following him? 

“Who designs kid’s robots like this..?” He tilted his head, pressing his face almost flushed against the office window. He blinked when the… creature? Thing? Whatever had begun to open it’s mouth. It echoed with a horrible creak, one he could hear from inside his office. He started to sweat as the mouth opened wider, making horrible, almost gagging noises. It pointed a grotesque, matted paw at the desktop computer at his desk. With a final, disgusting noise, it leaned in, close against the window, and spoke. 

“You have any games on your computer?” 

\--------

“So, let me get this straight…” Mike began, again, rubbing at his temples. “You are… a child. A child-who was celebrating his birthday at-at Freddy's.” He gestured wildly at the large, broken down robot, hunched over his desk playing with the security cams. "But, a-and I quote, 'it went bad'?" 

“Uhhhhhh. Huh.” It replied, eyes locking in on the little Freddy plush sitting on his desk. It’s voice was low, creaky, and sounded like it had been ran through a VHS player about 15 times and re-recorded. 

“When did this happen, exactly?” 

“My birth...day! I was turning. 7. And-a-half.” Bonnie said, matter-of-factly. 

“Okay, first of all, who-who celebrates half birthdays, second of all, what _year?"_ Conceptually, a child's consciousness actually existing in one of these things really didn't bode well regarding the legitimacy of the phone call he'd received. "So, does that mean you’re like… dead??” The large rabbit stiffened up, holding its hands behind its back. He suspected it had stolen the little Freddy. 

“Uh… Sus… ie doesn’t like us. To use that word. She says it’s... wrong.” 

“I’m fairly certain you’re dead, what with the way you smell...” He muttered, as discreetly as he could. Something about the newspaper articles he'd found in a janitors closet, stuffed and hidden away earlier seemed to now put him off more than they did when he'd first seen them. "Er, who's Susie..?" Mike redirected his attention. 

“Oh… she stays here with. Me. Me and... the others!” 

“Cool. Cool. Hey, can I have a minute to uh-just.... God. Just a moment?” 

“Only if you... promise to let me use... your neat-o computer-!” The thing gestured at the powered down (probably prehistoric) desktop 

“It's not my-wait. Neat-o? Who the hell says neat-o? What year is it?” He slumped over in his chair, eyeing the rabbit.

“Um. You’re not gonna like. Gonna... hurt me..? Like... with-with the suit..?" Mike got to his point, cautiously. 

“I... don't want to... talk about that stuff. Anymore." It was silent for a moment, Bonnie or whomever closing his mouth so tightly, he could hear the cotton and gears in his jaw grind against one another. 

“But, uh-” He fell back on his rear-end as the clock on his desk let loose with a static-y sounding cheer, rolling over to 6AM.

He blinked at the sudden silence, staring up at Bonnie. “Uh. Dude?” The animatronic said nothing, only going completely limp and slumping onto his desk with a loud THUNK. “Oh, no. Oh, PLEASE don’t be broken.” He tried pulling it away from the laptop on his desk. “I cannot go back to being jobless. I hate student loans!” He almost sobbed, finally wrenching Bonnie from the desk. The force made him fall flat on his back, letting the probably two-ton robot fall directly onto his chest. “Why.” He wheezed, trying to roll over. At least the laptop was still in one piece. 

In about an hour, he had finally dragged the rabbit’s prone body back onstage. It was a bit of a chore, squeezing between the bear and chicken character and ultimately getting stuck behind them in the process. 

“I hate it here.” He began bluntly as he locked up. “Next time I’m gonna do a day shift at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Be the dude who walks around in the suit.” He stepped out the doors, walking into the parking lot. “At least all the children there are alive and DON’T try to kill you..” He then proceeded to pass out on the pavement.


	2. Mike has a semi-worse day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! Sorry about the change in feeling of the writing or whatever, the first chapter was actually written a few months ago, and I only posted it recently to keep writing. Also, thanks to my buddy Colt ( sweetlittlebat ) for helping me edit this a bit.

The next few nights are, in summary, average. The creaking of the rogue animatronics weighed lightly on Mike, despite everything, as he wasn't the superstitious type. A dose of caution probably would've helped him, however. He was mulling this over when the idea popped into his head to swing by work earlier than usual, feeling as if his early mornings, earlier with each passing day, should at least hold some productivity.

And if that productivity was stopping by Freddy Fazbear's for some of the cheesiest, yummiest, up to code-iest pizza in the nation, who could blame him? He even had a work discount. The world was his clam, his mussel, his lobster, even. 

Any edible sea creature was acceptable, as he walked out past his kitchen in high spirits, stopping at his coat rack to grimace at his Fazbear standard work uniform. With simplified, cutesyfied versions of the mascots, along with a rainbow striped vest, the whole thing came off as a bit gaudy. Gaudy at least to Mike, who preferred beige above all else, or perhaps nice pastel yellows. He looked good in yellow.

He paused, standing in the doorway for a few more minutes, before shrugging his coat on and stepping outside. He climbed his way into his shitty hand me down Honda, having to kick the gas pedal a few times to get it un-stuck. Grabbing a few sugar packets from the cup-holder, he downed them, pursing his lips. 

“Juuuuust as good as breakfast and coffee.” He fucked with the gearshift a bit, backing out of his driveway with a cursory glance over his shoulder.

  
  


-

  
  


Mike was chowing down on pizza, watching as loud (VERY loud) children swarmed across the neon patterned, carpeted flooring. To be fair, the pizza was actually pretty fucking good. 

His focus wasn’t entirely on the pizza, though, considering the Fazbear gang was halfway through one of their Rock Hall of Fame worthy performances. Freddy and Bonnie were animated to the max, swinging their heads around and bobbing up and down a bit out of time with the music. Chica was on a lower stage near a group of Birthday-ing kids, her plastic beak clacking up a storm. They didn’t seem to mind, though, enraptured by her singing. Foxy was off a few feet away, showing off what looked like a brand new pirate’s boat prop. Fresh from Dollar General. 

He sighed, eyeing Bonnie as he wailed away at his guitar. Knowing what kind of things they’d gotten up to during the night made this performance a bit more… surreal. Especially thinking about who could possibly be responsible for something like that. He’d done a little digging after his first workday, finding nothing about anyone convicted for a similar crime. 

He stayed in that same seat long after closing time, sighing loudly as he remembered he’d need to clock in. In making his way to the office, he noticed that the large, fuzzy bunny fella, accompanied now by Chica, were hunched over his tablet in the small room. 

“Um.” Mike raised a hand, blinking. 

“You!” Bonnie yelped, cheerfully. He had his arms outstretched, and from his last night here, Mike had learned to wholeheartedly decline hugs. 

Chica (Susie, presumably) was staring the two down, the eyes of her suit slightly wall-eyed. Mike had ran into her once or twice before, but never spoke. 

None of the others seemed quite as vocal as Bonnie was, especially not Foxy. They often spoke amongst themselves, but never directly to him, as if they were hiding some great secret behind his back. He hated secrets. Well, not all secrets. He liked surprise parties. Surprise parties were fun. Even when someone’s aunt ends up getting drunk and telling wildly inappropriate stories in public during one. Having zoned out, he nearly shot through the ceiling when something tapped his shoulder. 

“Gabriel says he wants to meet you.” Bonnie was towering over him, blinking slowly. 

“Uh-who-?” Mike was still thinking about Aunts. 

“Gabriel! Big… bear!” Bonnie grabbed Mike by his arm and dragged him bonelessly down the hall. He assumed that meant Freddy, as he scuffed against the tiled floors uselessly. 

“Says he wants you to…” Bonnie paused, slowing a bit, before speeding back up. “Wants you to be part of the family!” Mike grimaced, standing up a bit straighter before being dumped unceremoniously on the main stage. Bonnie scurried off, and Mike was left rubbing at his head and scowling at the direction he retreated to, when a noise from behind him startled him into alertness. He blinked, staring upwards, only to be picked up in an uncomfortably smelly and furry hug. 

“Well, hello there!” Freddy (he assumed, he wasn’t really able to see his face from this angle) was _loud._ His voice sounded… kinda… fuzzy. A bit unnerving, but to be fair there wasn’t a lot about this situation that wasn’t. 

“Hi…” Mike waved timidly, now being hung several feet in the air by the thing, feet swinging. 

“Now, come along! I’ve got something to show… you.” Hoisting Mike back up as if he were a sack of flour, he made his way to the back area of the stage. “You’ll want to stay, won’t you?” 

“Yeah - uh huh sure - do you have to drag me around? I’m not that limber, you know.” 

Freddy didn’t answer. 

Mike sighed. Loudly.

Freddy turned his head, offering a half-lidded expression.

"Now, I know you'll enjoy becoming a part of the family. Just you wait!" He continued to drag Mike past the parts and services room, to a portion of the building that just felt... wrong to be in. Mike had that growing... almost guilty feeling growing, as if he was somewhere he shouldn't be in. The large creature dumped him to the floor, abandoning him to fiddle with something. The door swung open, and Freddy pushed Mike towards it.

The space was dark. That was all he could make out. Music was playing from… somewhere? Fumbling with the lightswitch, he became embarrassingly aware of Freddy behind him. 

Once the room was illuminated, he had to squint to get a good look at it. A good percentage of the lights were completely out, like no one had bothered to change them in years. The nearly hulking animatronic (Mike was 5’5”, give him a break) shoved him forward a bit. He blinked. 

The room was mostly empty. A few spare parts and older posters were strewn around the room. There were even a few arcade cabinets in the corner that he didn’t recognize. One or two that he did, but most were branded after Freddy’s mascots. But at the far end of the room, the thing that Freddy seemed most fascinated with, was a rabbit suit. Strangely enough, it was nothing special. It was missing an ear, and looked like it had been locked away for quite some time. It’s fur was matted, there was grime and dust built up near the joints. Oddly enough, it seemed like it was missing most of its mechanical parts. There was a prop banjo sitting next to the left paw, like it had been awaiting a performance, and the yellowish fur seemed more… green now than it should have been. 

“Well?” Despite his… lacking. In the ‘facial expression’ department, Freddy seemed to be beaming. 

“Oh... uhm. It’s…” Mike thought over his words, making a sour face. “Lovely… but I can’t stay here. I have, like, an apartment that my buddy pays rent on. It’s like, a really sweet deal, and I’ve got finals next week, and-” 

“Not the… room!” His voice seemed to cut out again near the middle, almost like he’d lost his voice momentarily. In place of an explanation, he leaned over and hefted the yellow rabbit suit, dangling it by the shoulders. 

Mike paled.

_ Shit.… another point for that phone dude.  _

“Oh-oh, no, see-see I’ve got to be somewhere-” He backed up a bit, waving his hands in surrender. “There’s… uh. No. No. I’m not getting in that.” 

“And why not?” Freddy seemed to reappear behind Mike, leaving him cringing at the intense scent. 

“Uh-I… don’t… to die..? Maybe…?” He stammered out, wincing at the high pitch of his voice. Freddy, presumably, took the pause as an invitation, wrapping him up into a literal bear hug. He immediately tried pulling back uselessly, the thick brown fur clogging his pores and the rancid odor almost making him shed tears at this point. 

“Now, now. All that fear isn’t helping either of us.” He drawled, dragging Mike effortlessly across the room. His heels skidded against the tiles as he struggled to find an easy medium between not opening his mouth and inhaling the (presumably) horrible tasting fur, and screaming terribly loud. It was not an easy task. There was a moment where the arm wrapped around his head constricted just a  _ little _ too tightly, and his air was completely depleted. After a few short minutes of struggle, he passed out, going fully limp. 

  
  


-

  
  


Mike floats in and out of focus, feeling somewhat suspended in water a, a distant humid warmth clinging to his skin.The inside of the suit smells faintly of rust, and just under the throb of his injuries, he feels the inside of the thing pressing in against him. Someone was humming to themselves… it was almost calm. Sounded something like Toreador March. 

“Oh… good! You’re finally back awake!” Freddy, who Mike was pretty much only just now realizing was there, patted his cheek. He frowned at the somewhat tacky moist sensation left on his cheek. Blinking a few times, he yawned. Upon trying to remove himself from the sitting position he was in, he felt a sharp stab in his right side. 

“Ah-What…?” He looked down, finally registering himself in that same grimey, yellow suit as before. “Oh. Oh, no. No, no no no.” The neck-hole of the outfit reached his chin, bits of (what he assumed) wiring and framework poking at his softer tissue. Some of the mold and sticky bits from the costume had rubbed off onto his neck and jaw. Luckily, he didn’t  _ seem _ to be too hurt, minus a bit of bruising around his neck. 

“There, there, isn’t that comfortable?” Saying this, he lifted the head of the suit, slipping it over Mike’s own. His breathing was stuffy, and he became aware of the fact that he was hyperventilating. Two fingers reached around his neck, and for a mortifying moment, he thought he was about to be strangled to death. Instead, the fuzz covered appendages dug under the neck hole, and there was a resounding  _ click. _ Mike inhaled sharply, feeling something come loose. 

“Wait-!” 

And the locks went off. 

And Mike was dead.

And Mike was dead. 

And Mike was dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit here: I crammed chapters 2 and 3 into 1 chapter, thinking they were a bit too short on their own. Enjoy!!


	3. Mike has... Mike has a terrible day. That's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN thanks to my buddy for helping with fic.   
> (WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS GORE N SOME SCENES WITH VIOLENCE. It also contains some scenes where rot and decay are described, so be aware of that.)

At least, he _thought_ he was dead. It was a fair assumption to make. He heard the locks go off, feeling something burrow through his skin. He opened his mouth to scream, and that was when the rods of metal under his throat surged forwards, jamming through his chin and into his skull. And then he  _ did _ scream. It was cut short, however, when a few rogue chunks of metal shredded his vocal cords. 

The rest of his body didn’t fare too well either, latches and positioning beams rocketing through his spongy insides. There would be points when the metal would catch on a bone, or a particularly thick clump of tendons, and a few jerks and twitches from Mike would set them off again. He was drowning through his lungs, punctured and filled with whatever liquids they could. 

Frankly, it was a little unfair, considering the fact that he already was suffering fatal brain damage. His organs were mush at this point, moving desperately to keep him alive to no avail as he croaked and twitched on the floor. 

The whole process didn’t take more than half a minute, but it felt like hours to him, eyes popping from his skull almost accusationally at the large bear in the peripheral of his vision, before it went black. 

And that’s, presumably, when he died. He couldn’t  _ feel _ anything. Couldn’t move, breathe, his heart wasn’t beating. These are usually symptoms of death, he thought. And that was the problem. He  _ thought. _ He was thinking. 

Sure, he wasn’t moving, and his body wasn’t much more than a clump of meat in a puddle of blood and other such goo at this point, but Mike didn’t think dead bodies had sentient thought. Unless this was just the desperate firing of nerves going off in his damaged brain before death. 

_ Am I in Hell? Is this hell?  _ He mulled it over, pausing his pondering only when the unmistakable sound of creaking mechanical footsteps echoed from… overhead? 

“When you wake up, just remember. Friends… are forever!” 

Mike wanted to use so many swear words, so, so bad. 

_ You furry fuckhead. You literally just murdered me. I’m dead. Deceased.  _

He… felt? More like was aware of. He was aware of being propped up against the opposite wall, almost gently, caringly. There were a few more sounds, and the door was slammed shut, followed by a loud  _ click _ . 

And that was when things got… fuzzy. He could estimate how much time had passed, sure, but even counting seconds in a day got boring eventually. He knew at least a month had passed, and thankfully, he couldn’t smell himself, but aside from that he was in the dark. There would be the occasional noise, or sensation. But no one ever came in. 

He assumed Freddy had hidden him too well. 

There was… moving vans? Moving vans. At some point. Loud, beeping things that he heard… at some time. And that petered off again probably a day later. Maybe they were hauling those stupid robots off to the dump. That’ll teach them.

He sighed, mulling it over in his head. 

_ I mean… they really are just asshole kids, right? Poor guys. _

There was a mouse chewing one of his arms. It was weird to think how many creatures would probably be ecstatic at finding a hearty meal down here besides leftover pizza scraps and french fries. And whatever was inside all the other mascots. 

It was about a month and a half (?) when Mike actually started to panic about the whole ‘being dead’ thing. It really set in at that point, and his thoughts started to get loud. Without a physical outlet, it really just ended up swarming louder and louder until it finally petered out, probably a day later. 

More noises. More mice. He had begun to hear dripping noises as well, as if something was leaking. 

Eventually the mice left him alone. He managed to figure out that they weren’t gnawing at him anymore, and they had started nesting inside some of the suit crevices. One of his favorite days, though, was when someone broke into the old building. 

Obviously, they left the room he was in alone. Probably boarded up too well. But from where he was, they sounded like paranormal investigators. 

_ Yeah, you guys are gonna LOVE this. _

If his eyes were still in their sockets, he’d probably be rolling them. 

They left pretty soon afterwards, getting frightened and leaving without any proof of the otherworldly beings that haunt our realm. Too bad, he figured he was really starting to get gross in here. Maybe if someone dug him up they’d… uh… well. He hadn’t really thought that far. There wasn’t exactly a way to get a children’s inanimate object reported to the authorities. 

-

It was a while before anything new happened, but boy did something happen. 

Mike had been sitting, collecting probably several new species of mold and moss, when he heard a door open… somewhere. 

There was a loud clamoring noise, and in the room… next to him? There was some scuffling. He didn’t remember there being a room there. At least, not one that anyone had ever entered while he was here. 

There was a series of clamoring, clashing noises, and a long pause. 

Another short burst of loud noises, and another long pause. 

_ Was someone trying to break in…?  _

Mike strained whatever ears he had left, trying to understand what was happening. He hears the low rumble of someone talking, before the noise cuts out again. 

More noises, more silence. This time, there were footsteps, pacing in circles for quite awhile, before they broke into a run.

The last of the noises ended off in a shrieking noise, and it was quite a while before Mike realized that someone was laughing. Almost… out of breath. The walls were thin here, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to be able to comprehend it. Then there’s the longest silence he’s heard since this person arrived. Maybe they’d left…? 

Just as he was entertaining that possibility, there was a loud shout. Yelling, fearfully, and erratic footsteps. Whoever was in there was… running from something? To someone? Mike  _ swore _ he heard a second voice at one point. 

Then, this new fellow, (Mike had come to start calling him ‘Loud Idiot’) backed RIGHT into the wall Mike was resting against. There was the sound of fabric rustling, and metal creaking. 

_ They were… putting something on? Taking something off? _

A short, low, rumbling laughter was heard, before the voice strained off into a gasp. A loud CRACK. The snap of metal through joints and flesh being followed by what Mike could best describe as agonized howling quickly echoed through the space. 

_ THUMP.  _

He’d fallen against the wall. Mike and whoever this could be were back to back. The wall shook, almost shuddering and twitching with the other fellow. 

He wondered if he hollered like that, or if he just died quickly and silently, but the screaming still echoes, not even pausing for breath, and Mike aches in something like sympathy.

He isn't sure if he's relieved when the screaming stops. 

And it’s quiet again. There was the occasional scuffle from somewhere, but Mike chalked it up to more mice. And after a week, something new happened. 

He opened his eyes. And he saw. 

He was… awake, again. 

Opening his jaw, he was a little more than unnerved when quite a few cockroaches climbed from the orifice, followed by the mice nesting in his belly. Or… the suit’s stomach. Trying to move was out of the question. He attempted lifting his arm, but he heard a loud  _ CRUNCH  _ once he did so. He quickly dropped it again, mortified. 

His entire face felt dry and moist at the same time, throat opening and constricting against nothing. He coughed. At least, that's what he could best call it. It was more of a weak wheeze. He almost missed the sensory deprivation of the unconscious nothingness. 

“Huech-egh… llo..?” His strained attempt at a simple ‘hello’ left him gasping for air with almost nonexistent lungs. He blinked, stiffening at the sound of something from the other wall. 

_ “Who’s… there…?”  _ The sentence was punctuated with a loud, wet wheeze, and more shuffling. Mike thought for a moment, trying to decide if he should answer. He was quiet for a bit longer, trying to work his rotten body up to work, before responding. 

“Mm-m… ike.” 

_ “Mi-mike-Michael-!”  _ The voice sounded like it was scrambling for something, and it was only then that Mike realized he was British. There was another long pause, where the fellow had to catch his breath after the outburst. 

_ “Last-name…”  _

“Schm-schmidt…” He gulped in another breath. He wasn’t sure if he still needed to breathe, but it felt right. The British fellow slumped against the wall again, silent. Mike was left to his own devices, trying to get his eyes to focus on the room around him. 

A few arcade cabinets. The names were a bit obscure, some of the ones with paint still on them being ‘Burger Bungle’, ‘Raze’, and ‘SuperVoid’. There was a large, oversized gift box in the corner with a crank on the side. A few mascot costumes hanging from the walls, and spare parts. Some, from characters he’d never seen. One of them looked to be a small, round boy with rosy cheeks and a propeller cap. Missing it’s eyes and inner workings, of course. All in all, the room was immensely freaky. 

_ “Who - are… you…”  _ The voice had returned, a bit more steadily.  _ “Mike…”  _

“Guard.” One word answers were good. Less stressful. 

_ “Here-?”  _ He responded, incredulously. 

“Was. Was… guard.”

_ “Ah.” _ There was a short, awkward silence for a moment, while they both mulled over their shared position. 

“Name..?” Mike turned his head to the wall, ignoring the  _ squishcrunch _ his neck made as he did so. 

_ “William.”  _ Another pause.  _ “Afton.”  _

The name sounded intensely familiar to Mike, and he tried mulling through his mushed brains to uncover its origins. Before he could get to that elusive thought, however, William spoke again. 

_ “What happened..? To - you…” _

“Suit. Crushed in it.” He thought back to the noises from last week. “You?” 

_ “Same.” _

“Asshole - robots…” 

That got a laugh out of William. It lasted a little  _ too  _ long to be comfortable, and was consistently interrupted by loud wheezes and gasps, but the sentiment was there. 

Mike opened his jaw to retort again, but found himself slumped back against the wall in a fit of exhaustion, vision beginning to go black again. He wanted to yell in frustration as he slipped back into unconsciousness. William was still talking, though, and Mike only managed to catch the tail end of the statement. 

_ “You - remind me… of him…”  _

And everything was black again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm REALLY happy with how this chapter played out. And in case you're confused, in this particular fic there were at one point two springbonnie costumes in use. One became springtrap, and the other became scraptrap. The one Mike got killed in is the springtrap suit, and William is currently trapped in the scraptrap suit.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of wrote this out of nostalgia, missing that old trope of 'snarky asshole nightguard interacts with the animatronics' but I'm putting a few FUN little twists on it. ENJOY!


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